Chapter 7

As Darlia and I walked slowly back from Anna's toward Mama and Daddy's place, I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket and scrolled through the numbers – I don't have many in there – until I found one I'd located online before we left Albuquerque. I had the phone dial it, and when the man answered I said, "I'm looking for Cooper Benson."

"That's me," said a thoroughly Alabama voice, with an accent so thick it could stand on its own. I understood him just fine, having lived in the south, and having visited southern Alabama at least once a year since 1995, but I would have hated to have to try to write his speech down phonetically. Tired would come out tarred, and he would surely pronounce oil as though it were awl.

"My name's Darvin Carpenter, and I'm visiting family here in Leanna – I live in New Mexico. I've heard about sacred harp singing, and while I've got some time I thought I'd look into it. I know there's a bunch in Albuquerque where I live, but now's the first chance I've had to check it out."

"Well, Mr. Carpenter, you've called the right man, an' you've got good timing too. We sing on the second and fourth Sunday of the month, an' this comin' Sunday's the fourth. Would you like to join us?"

"Sure, that'd be great. The information I have is that y'all sing in a Baptist church building?"

"Yes, sir, the old Hope Baptist Church out east of town."

"Okay, I know where that's at – I've been by there."

"You know, Mr. Carpenter, your name sounds sort o' familiar, now that I think on it."

I grinned. "It wouldn't surprise me none. I'm married to Jud and Maryellis Johnston's youngest daughter."

"Okay, that's right – you're the white man married that skinny colored gal." I got the sense that Benson didn't mean anything derogatory by the terms, but was just using the vocabulary he knew, so although I didn't much care for his description of Cecelia I let it pass. "You come here every year, don't you? I guess you would know where Hope's at."

"I've drove by there about 27 times just in the past few years," I said. "I've never been to church there, since we go with my wife's family or run over to Dothan to hear her brother preach, but I know exactly where it's at."

"Then you won't have any trouble finding us Sunday. Too bad it's not a fifth Sunday, because then we do dinner on the ground, but we'll have a recess with snacks and drinks. We start singing around 2 in the afternoon, so that ever'one can get out of church an' eat lunch if they're so inclined, but we operate on Baptist Standard Time even though some of us aren't Baptists."

I laughed at that one. "I know exactly what you mean, but at Mt. Tabor we operate on what the pastor's wife calls Colored People Time, so even with y'all starting at 2, I might be late. I said 'I, ' but I might be more than one – if my wife and daughter decide to come I'll carry 'em with me."

"The more the merrier, Mr. Carpenter. We've got a good class, an' since you live in New Mexico I know you'll be singing there if you decide to keep with it, but the more voices the better."

His use of the word class puzzled me a bit, but I'd worry about that later. "Okay, so 2 PM, at Hope. Is there any charge?"

"Not for new singers, no. If you decide to stay with it, then it's $2 a singing, which goes to paying for minutes books an' a box of tune books when we need more, an' various other expenses which right now you probably ain't got no interest in a-tall. Of course how they do things in New Mexico I can't say." He didn't talk exactly like me, but I had to smile at how closely he'd come to my style just then.

"Okay, coolness. I'll look forward to it, then."

"An' we'll look forward to seein' you there."

So we hung up. I'd spent more time on the phone than I usually do or like to do. As far as I'm concerned Alexander Graham Bell did the world a disservice when he invented the telephone – if it weren't for the need to keep in touch with people who care about me and whom I care about, I'd toss mine in the trash, cell phone and home phone both.

"So you're gonna do it, Dad?" Darlia asked.

"Yep. Do you still wanna go with?"

"Sure. You know I like to sing."

"Yeah."

"Well, this is singing, so why wouldn't I want to go?"

I looked over at her. She was smiling at me, a gentle breeze stirring her hair – not lifting it, for it takes more than a breeze to lift all that, but gently moving it around her face. "Are you makin' fun o' me, 'Lia?"

"Yep."

"Smart alec." In my countrified pronunciation it came out elec.

"Better than bein' a dumb alec."

"Now you're stealin' my lines."

"Kevin told me about when Jimi Hendrix and the Who played Monterey Pop."

"When who played what?"

"Sheesh, Dad, you don't know nothin' about rock, do you? Just listen, okay, an' then you can look 'em up on the Web later if you want. Anyway, Jimi and the Who flipped to see who would play first, and the Who won or lost, whichever, and they went on before Jimi. An' they did what they were famous for, smashing the drum kit and wrecking speakers, an' Pete Townshend destroying his guitar. Well, when Jimi went on, he did the same kind o' stuff – he ran the neck of his Strat into the speaker, an' then he actually lit the guitar on fire right there on stage. Pete said to Roger Daltrey, 'He's stealing our act!' an' Roger said, 'No, he's doing our act.'"